


Find A Way To Keep The Good Memories

by verucasalt123



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Memories, Stilinski Family Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 09:19:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1171370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verucasalt123/pseuds/verucasalt123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some memories of his mom are happy for Stiles, because they were her happy memories, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Find A Way To Keep The Good Memories

**Author's Note:**

> For Full Moon Ficlet - made it just under the 1K limit. Also, the Derek/Stiles relationship is only mentioned.

Stiles had lived in Beacon Hills for his entire life. He was born at Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital, attended the Christmas Eve and Easter services at Beacon Hills United Methodist Church when his mom was still alive, and gone to Parker Elementary School, Beacon Hills Middle School, and currently Beacon Hills High School. He’d been a spectator at high school sports events long before he ever stared playing any of those sports (though technically he mostly still just warmed the bench during lacrosse games, but he had a jersey so it totally counted). It was a small enough town that running into someone you knew while you were out doing errands wasn’t uncommon. 

So of course he knew about Sawyer’s. Hardly anyone ever went there to eat, maybe because there was a limited menu for food. The booths were covered in old, cracked leather, the floors were sticky, and there wasn’t enough light to keep it from looking gloomy. The graffiti on the bathroom walls was entertaining, mostly because it was easy to tell some of it ( **CLASS OF 1990!!!** and **WHO SHOT J.R.?** ) had been there for thirty years or more. The coolest feature of the place was an actual real live working soda fountain, which could not be found anywhere else in this town. Considering the small number of customers Stiles had ever seen there, not many people thought that was quite as awesome as he thought it was. 

His mom used to take him now and then because she liked the place. She’d grown up in Beacon Hills too, and when she was a teenager, Sawyer’s was the spot where various groups of friends gathered after school (or earlier because Mr. Sawyer, who’d already been pretty old when Stiles’ mom came here, never ratted anyone out for being truant). The kids would congregate to eat plates of fries with cheese melted over them, gossip, flirt with whoever caught their attention, and smoke. It still sounded strange to Stiles, considering he’d never in his short life (he was eleven the last time he and his mom had been there together, the last place they’d visited before her final hospital stay) been inside a building that allowed smoking. Years before Stiles was born (sometime in the 1980s he thought), you were supposed to be eighteen to buy cigarettes, but Mr. Sawyer never checked IDs and didn’t care that these were very clearly high school students. All good reasons for the teens of Beacon Hills to flock to the place. 

Times changed, though, and teenagers started hanging out at chain coffee shops that offered free wifi. Nobody smoked cigarettes anymore; well, not _nobody_ , but the vast majority of kids Stiles knew didn’t smoke, had no interest in it and didn’t want to be in a place that smelled like cigarettes. They also were more interested in the venti caramel frappuccinos and internet access available at Starbucks than the cheese fries and the heavenly fresh-made orangeade at Sawyer’s. 

Stiles went to Starbucks too, and didn’t feel like it was a betrayal. That’s where his friends usually were. But he still tried to get to Sawyer’s once a month (and seriously, how was this guy still working, he must be ninety years old) for a snack and a delicious orangeade. When he first started going back there, Stiles asked his dad if he should bring him home anything to eat or drink. The look in the Sheriff’s eyes was far away and almost haunted. He didn’t answer the question, because that look told Stiles everything he needed to know and he never offered again. 

There were a few places and a few things that could remind him of his mom and not make him feel sad. Even at the times when his mother’s absence was more painful than usual, his memories of watching his mom sip on her root beer float and tell stories about being in high school were happy memories. For Stiles, just walking in the door and taking in the smell of grease, smoke, and coffee made him feel some kind of connection with her. 

He’d considered taking Derek with him since they were dating now, but hadn’t yet decided if this was something he was ready to share, not even with the man who knew every secret Stiles had ever had. Maybe next year, he thought, if they were still together, he’d bring him along. If Derek drank a soda, Stiles would take a picture so he’d have evidence that it happened.

For the past couple of years, Stiles came to Sawyer’s on his mother’s birthday and ordered a root beer float after visiting her grave (even though he really didn’t like them). He’d read comics or play on his phone until he finished the sweet concoction. When Stiles goes in at any other time, he sits in a booth and looks at the menu that hasn’t changed in several decades. But when he goes in on that day, he just takes a seat on one of the barstools. 

Stiles never had to ask, on those days, because now Mr. Sawyer prepared the frozen treat as soon as he saw Stiles come in and walk toward the stools instead of a booth. They’ve never had a conversation deeper than “here’s your change”, because it was the last place on the planet where you could only pay in cash. The two of them usually just nodded at each other in recognition, which was a gift Stiles appreciated dearly. He couldn’t take it on days like this when people were constantly either walking around him on eggshells or asking him _how he’s holding up_. The man behind the counter was certainly aware of the pattern, and maybe he even remembered Claudia from years ago. He didn’t mention it if he did, and never tried to make small-talk with Stiles as he sucked in good memories of his mom from the plastic straw and spoon in her favorite dessert.


End file.
